


Dear Diary

by miss_eee



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, F/M, Fluff, Memory Loss, Mild Smut, au with hints of canon, medical coma, memories and feelings, underlying tones of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:00:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23504992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_eee/pseuds/miss_eee
Summary: When Jughead Jones reads Betty Cooper's diary, it stirs up forgotten memories.orA story about love, heartbreak, and blurry memories
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 28
Kudos: 90





	1. December 25th

_if you read someone else's diary, you get what you deserve._

_-david sedaris_

**December 25th, 2025**

_Jughead and I celebrated our first Christmas in the new apartment. It feels weird, all these Christmas' we've had together, but this is the first one that's just us…_

He remembered that day vividly because of his work schedule -- bartending at this hole-in-the-wall in Brooklyn-- he hadn't been able to make it home to Riverdale for the holiday and Betty had been insistent that if he wasn't going home, then neither was she. It was their first Christmas on their own -- just them. He knew she was sad about not seeing the twins, about missing out on her family’s traditions, but he’d make enough money on Christmas Eve to pay their rent for the month of January. 

_So we’ll start new traditions_ , he’d told her, _our own traditions._

She'd woken early, before him, excitement radiating from her as she bounced around their small apartment in her red and white striped pajamas (that matched perfectly with the pair he was currently wearing). When he finally stumbled into the kitchen, she greeted him with a fresh cup of coffee and a warm sugar cookie, which he quickly followed up with a snickerdoodle, then a chocolate chip. Betty Cooper's Christmas cookies were legendary and he'd been blessed with them every year for as long as he could remember. 

"Merry Christmas, Betts." She was still spinning around the kitchen, pulling a tray of cookies from the oven, but stopped only to kiss him, her flour-covered hands leaving marks on his cheek. 

"Morning, Jug! Merry Christmas!" 

It had been one of those days that just seemed so simply _them._ The morning had been lazily spent helping bake cookies and stealing bites of batter and kisses. In between batches of cookies, he’d helped her chop peppers and mushrooms to add to an omelette before he took over with cooking the bacon. Betty Cooper was perfect in many ways, but cooking bacon was not one of them. Without fail, the smoke detector would be set off, bacon burnt beyond salvation. Jughead preferred it a nice mix of crispy and floppy and had perfected the art of bacon cooking over many a morning making a greasy breakfast for his hungover father while growing up.

They’d passed the afternoon by going for a walk around the city. Brooklyn was quiet, peaceful in the freshly fallen, untouched snow. The shops were closed, sidewalks near-empty, There was a magic in the air that seemed like this moment was frozen in time and designed specifically for them. Hand in hand, bundled against the elements, her face mostly covered by a thick, ivory scarf, he didn’t think she’d ever looked more beautiful. 

Their small apartment was filled with the most delicious smells when they walked through the door. Betty had spent the last few days prepping a _too-large-for-two_ dinner: ham, cheese potatoes, green beans, homemade rolls and, because cookies weren't enough, individual-sized creme brulee. Everything was exactly the way it was in Riverdale -- exactly as her mother usually made -- but they ate it on the sofa in front of the fireplace instead of on Alice Cooper’s special Christmas china. 

After the dishes had all been washed and leftovers packed away, she’d climbed into his lap, sitting on the floor in front of the Christmas tree. He knew there was another present, still packed away in a box in his sock drawer, but he knew that tonight was not the night for that. That gift needed a night all of its own. 

Instead, he gifted her a new diary (the one she’d started later that same night), a blush and ivory cashmere sweater, and a new pair of airPods. Years together had taught him that not all gifts needed to be monumental, that practical and meaningful were equally as acceptable. She had given him two new flannels (one a green and blue plaid, one a black and grey). 

Continuing a tradition they’d had since high school, after opening presents, they’d sat in front of the fireplace watching _It’s A Wonderful Life_. She’d grabbed an assortment of blankets from the hallway closet, settling down in front of the television. Betty tucked herself into his side, her head falling to rest on his shoulder. It wasn’t long before soft snores came from her. He’d sat and watched her sleep until the movie had finished before carefully carrying her down the hallway to their bedroom. 

He shut the diary then, remembering how that night had gone when she’d woken a few hours later, upset that she’d fallen asleep before their _other_ Christmas tradition, and she’d apologetically made up for it for hours. 

He rocked back in the hard chair, pressing his palms into his eyes, running them down along his cheeks. The day had been exhausting. Yesterday was exhausting. This whole week had been exhausting, and he knew that tomorrow would be exhausting as well. 

He glanced up at the clock on the wall, only ten minutes remaining before he had to leave for the night. He wrapped her hand in his, running his thumb across her knuckles as he leaned in, placing a soft kiss to her forehead. 

“I love you, Betts. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

The hallway outside the room was dark and quiet. He slung his laptop bag over his shoulder, digging in his pocket for his keys. As he passed the nurses station, he returned their half-smiles, ignoring the murmurs that followed after him. He’d be back tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. Until, well... until he didn’t have to leave his heart behind. 

  
  



	2. October 31st

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I always say, keep a diary and someday it'll keep you.  
> -Mae West

**October 31st, 2020**

_Tonight was our first Halloween in the city! Archie is visiting from Nashville and Veronica coordinated a bar crawl, she used her rum label to get us past the red ropes without waiting or paying a cover._

His stomach revolted even thinking about the hangover that had accompanied him that next morning. He hadn’t wanted to go out, but it was Archie’s first visit to the city, and Veronica had insisted on a bar crawl. Forgoing the typical cutesy couples costume, Betty had spent hours standing over him, meticulously painting his face in a skeleton design before quickly doing her own in a similar style. 

Veronica’s rum line was gaining more success and she’d used her connections to bypass the lines, the small group not paying the ridiculously high cover charge. The bar scene wasn't entirely his thing, he much preferred the hole-in-the-wall bar he worked at that was frequented by blue-collar construction workers stopping in for a beer on their way home from a long day of honest work.

Betty had carried with her this small basket, filled with an assortment of candy and small liquor bottles, giddily passing them out to strangers on the street. She was so carefree, he didn’t think she’d ever looked so beautiful. 

After their third bar, and the fifth round of tequila shots, he didn’t remember much. Somehow, they’d made it back to the apartment she shared with Veronica because he’d woken the next morning wrapped in her sheets. It wasn’t the bright sunlight beaming in through the large windows that woke him though. It wasn’t the smell of burning bacon that did it either. No, on the morning of the worst hangover he’d ever had, he’d been woken up to the sound of the smoke alarm going off. That was also the day he’d decided Betty was forever banned from cooking bacon. 

* * *

He rocked back in the stiff chair, his hand still holding onto hers as he stared at her small frame in the hospital bed. It’d been three weeks since the accident. Three weeks since that truck had run a red light, almost taking his entire world away. 

The doctors were hopeful, but would know more when she woke up. If she woke up. She’d spent the first two weeks in a medically-induced coma to reduce the swelling on her brain. The doctors were hopeful. She was young and healthy, but they wouldn’t know more until she woke up. If she woke up. It’d been a full week now since the medication had been reduced, but she still hadn’t woken up. 

Some days, he’d beg her to open her eyes, squeeze his hand, wiggle her fingers. Something, anything to let him know that the girl he’d fallen in love with all those years ago was still in there. But day after day, she continued to lay there, completely still and unresponsive. 

His watch buzzed, reminding him that visiting hours were over. He leaned down, kissing her head and gently rubbing his fingers across her knuckles. 

“I love you, Betts. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Like a zombie, he passed the nurses station, half smiling at the faces he saw every day. He knew they whispered about him, the way he came so devotedly every day, reading to her from her diaries and retelling their memories even when he didn’t know if she could hear him or not. He’d be back again tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. Until, well... until he didn’t have to leave his heart behind. 

* * *

It wasn’t until he was turning the key to the townhouse they shared that he realized how tired he actually was. His hand was shaking and he couldn’t remember if he’d eaten anything that day or if he’d only had coffee again. He dropped his bag by the door, flipping on the light and meandered into the kitchen. 

“Jug…” Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper. 

“Ronnie, I’m sorry I’m so late.”

“It’s not that, Jug. It’s just…” he watched her move, grabbing a plate of pasta from the microwave and placing it on the counter next to him. “I know you want to be there with her, but they need you here, too. They’re scared and confused and they need you here with them.”

“I just can’t,” he sighed. “I don’t know what to do, what to tell them. Veronica, what am I going to do if she doesn’t wake up?”

“We’ll be here, Archie and I, we’ll get through it together. But you can’t think like that right now, Jug. They need you to be here with them.”

He sat staring at the plate as she quietly grabbed her purse from the table by the door. He didn’t say anything else to her, he knew she’d be back early in the morning, maybe bringing croissants or donuts or bagels. He knew she’d wake them up with enough time to eat before dropping them off to school. He knew she’d come back to straighten up the house before grocery shopping and before picking them back up from school. He knew she’d take them to the park before making dinner, before giving them a bath, before putting them to bed. He knew she would be here with them, so he could be there with her. 

He showered quickly, the hot water washing away the sterile smell of the hospital. Without turning the light on and waking them up, he found a pair of old flannel pants and a faded S shirt, but when he peeled back the covers to the bed, two pairs of eyes stared back at him. 

Their blonde curls were still wet from the bath, clinging to their faces and the pillow, but he placed a kiss to the top of each of their heads as he wrapped his arms around them, pulling both of his daughters in closer to him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does this have a regular posting schedule? (shrugs) But at least the next chapter is already written, so there's that
> 
> Super thankful for Cyd for beta'ing this mess, and being so encouraging and supportive with whatever hot mess of an idea I throw at her.


	3. May 7th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memory is the diary that we all carry with us.  
> -Oscar Wilde

**May 7th, 2009**

_ Today at recess, I was playing on the swings and we were having a jumping contest, but I fell and broke my arm.  _

This might have been the day he started to fall in love with Betty Cooper. 

It was during recess in third grade and the three of them— him, Archie, and Betty— were having a contest to see who could jump off the swings and land the farthest away. She’d beaten them four times in a row, but Archie didn’t take well losing to a girl. 

“One more time,” he’d said. 

One more time. They’d swung so high that the chains jumped, and he thought for sure he’d swing around the bar. 

One. Two. Three.

He remembered watching it happen. It felt like slow motion, where he knew something was going to go wrong before it did, and he was powerless to stop it. He’d let go of his swing just a millisecond after her and Archie. He watched as her body careened through the air, arms and legs kicking out. They were too close together, Archie with his long, awkward limbs, and he was helpless to watch as Betty’s leg caught on Archie’s foot, throwing her off balance right as she landed on the ground.

He knew instantly that she was hurt. As soon as he’d landed, he’d ran to her, rolling her body over, off of the arm she’d landed on. Archie kept repeating over and over again that he was sorry, but sorry doesn’t fix a broken bone. 

There was a moment of panic that came over the boys as they watched the recess monitors blow the whistle, signaling the end of their time outside, watching as the rest of their classmates ran to line up single-file. No one had seen Betty fall, no one was coming to help her. With all the strength he could muster, he reached his arms underneath her, cradling her close to him as Archie ran ahead for help. 

He’d carried her straight to the office, being careful of the arm that was hanging at an unnatural angle. 

That night at home, he’d asked his mom for help baking peanut butter cookies, since he knew those were Betty’s favorites. The next day at lunch, when he pulled them out of his brown paper bag and presented them to her, he didn’t think she’d ever looked more beautiful, and that was when he knew. 

Jughead Jones was in love with Betty Cooper, and he would do anything to make her smile like that again. 

And he had. Even though for years she only saw him as a friend, he’d done everything he could to make her smile. But that was a story for another time. 

* * *

  
  


His body groaned as he leaned back in the stiff chair, his hands coming up to rub at his eyes. He’d hardly slept the night before. Like Veronica had said, the twins were nervous and scared, and he’d spent most of the night comforting them. At six years old, Eloise and Jo were full of life and mischief. He could sense that they barely understood what was going on, only that their mom had been in an accident. The way the girls had clung to him when he came to bed, little tears in their eyes, he knew they were more afraid than he’d originally thought. He thought they’d be fine with Veronica, they usually loved sleepovers with Auntie V and Uncle Archie, but he knew Veronica was right. They needed him here with them. 

He’d gotten up earlier than usual, making a full breakfast of pancakes and bacon before waking the girls. He scrawled each of them a note on a post-it he’d found in a drawer, adding it to the lunches Veronica had packed the night before. They’d sat at the table, in a place he hadn’t sat in three weeks, and listened to them ramble on about what they were learning in school. 

How many days of their lives had he missed, how many more would he miss? 

He dropped them off at school with kisses and a promise to pick them up that afternoon. The day had been a steady stream of doctors and nurses, no new progress, and this morning had made him realize that he needed to be there for  _ all  _ of his girls, not just Betty. Too quickly, the alarm on his phone chimed, letting him know that, for the first time in three weeks, he needed to leave before the sun set, before visiting hours were over. 

As he passed the nurses station, he was met with the usual stares, the usual half-smiles. He knew, even as he was leaving so early, that he’d be back again in the morning, after dropping the girls off at school. He knew he’d be back again the day after that, after dropping the girls off at school. He knew he’d be back every day until, well… until he didn’t have to leave his heart behind.

* * *

They ordered pizza for dinner, the three of them piled closely together on the couch as they watched Trolls World Tour for the umpteenth time. After their bath, he read to them  _ The Secret of The Old Clock _ . The classic Nancy Drew book was well above their average reading age, but Betty had insisted they were ready to start the series. Nancy had just arrived at the summer camp with Helen when he felt Eloise tug on his arm. 

“Daddy?” Her voice was soft, hesitant. “Can we see Mommy tomorrow?” 

In all of the weeks that Betty had been in the hospital, he hadn’t taken the girls to see her. At first, it had been too gruesome, and then… then he was worried about the questions they would have about why she wasn’t awake or able to speak to them. If he was being honest, he was terrified of her waking up when they were there and not her not remembering them. 

No, he wasn't ready to take the girls to see their mother yet. 

"Soon. Soon, bug. I promise,” he sighed. “Why don't you and Jo paint pictures for her room?" 

The girls immediately bounded out of bed, pulling out art supplies and covering the kitchen table in construction paper, paints, and markers. He didn't care that they finally fell asleep after midnight. He didn't care that they would both need a bath in the morning to clean off the paint. He didn't care that somehow, paint had ended up smeared all down the hallway on the walls. 

No, as he surveyed the damage done to his kitchen table, all that mattered was the picture Jo had painted of 4 stick figures — three with brilliant blonde hair and one with black hair with a scribble of grey on top. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for still being on this ride with me! And all of the love to Cyd for always being supportive and letting me steal her headcanons!

**Author's Note:**

> all of the beta love to cyd, for putting up with my hot mess and always being a supportive friend. 
> 
> follow me on Tumblr @ miss-eee


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